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Javert stared at himself in the mirror, dismayed. He’d woken up a few minutes ago with Valjean sleeping soundly beside him, heavy limbs trying to keep him in bed a minute more, as he did every morning. Javert had slipped away to wash up, but hadn’t gotten much farther than standing before his reflection at the sink, eyes wide with panic and horror. Normally, his morning frumpiness would not give him much pause before he set to clean his teeth and shave, but today, there was something much more serious that distressed him about his appearance. Something that could not be groomed or washed away.
Hickeys. Kiss marks. Love bites.
Whatever they were to be called, Javert’s neck was littered with them. Large and deep red and high above where his uniform collar would cover. He cursed himself, then Valjean, the devil who’d done this to him. And Javert knew that the bastard had left these marks where they would be seen on purpose, if only to torment the younger man. It seemed to be one of his favorite hobbies, always finding new ways to make Javert suffer. Javert scowled then, an angry blush creeping up the back of his neck to his cheeks, but the anger was useless. The bites were made and there was no going back to change things. Though, Javert wondered as he started to clean his teeth and heated the tap water for a shave, would he change things if he could? He recalled the night prior, if only to assess if the marks were worth their misery.
-
They were in bed. Javert was reading a chapter of his book, as he did every night, struggling to concentrate on the dull text before him (as he did every night.) Valjean was beside him, checking his phone one last time before going to sleep, as he did every night. He set his phone aside, turned off the lamp beside him, as he always did, but then curled close to Javert’s side. This was a bit unusual. Valjean normally liked to get straight to bed, as Javert did, and rarely did they cuddle while falling asleep. But it was then, while Javert half-reflected on the change of behavior, that he felt lips mouthing gently at his neck and a strong arm wrap about his chest. He grunted.
“I’m reading.”
“You hate reading.”
There was little argument after that. Javert’s book was dog-eared and put away, the lamp on his bedside table clicked off, and Valjean’s lips worked a trail across the younger man’s throat with soft, sucking kisses. Javert complained little, feeling himself slowly becoming affected by the gentle, teasing kisses.
“I’ve got to wake up early tomorrow,” Javert mumbled half-heartedly, as if that would stop Valjean. When the man wanted to worship his partner’s body, there was little Javert could do–or wanted to do–about it. Such was the case now, with Valjean merely grunting to signify he’d heard the other but making no show of stopping and letting Javert get his sleep. Javert barely minded. It was a half-truth anyway. He had to wake up just as early as normal, rising at the same time as Valjean and Cosette, though it was still sort of early. But it made no difference to either man, especially not Valjean in his amorous mood. His rough hands were roaming over Javert’s body with appreciation, his lips were pressing suckling kisses to his throat, and Javert felt himself grow harder under the teasing touches. What point was there in fighting something he wanted?
Javert smirked to himself, having inadvertently summarized the majority of their relationship in the brief reflection.
He bumped his hips slightly then, trying to make his growing need known, but Valjean would not be distracted. It was a wonderful and damning thing about the man; the patience and dedication with which he approached all his tasks. The same could be said for Javert but his normal fervor for his duties was diminished with crippling shyness in the more intimate activities between the two men. Valjean didn’t mind, as he didn’t mind now. He loved having control over his partner; loved worshipping his body and making him shiver and cry out with ecstasy. And when Javert was so blind with pleasure and lust that he could return the favor, he was very thorough.
Now, however, was the early stages, when Valjean would have to slowly drive the younger man mad with teasing touches and fleeting kisses. He needed to draw him out and make him ask for Valjean to touch him, stroke him, suck him, finger him; whatever Javert wanted, if he asked, Valjean would grant. It was a wonderful game.
“Why’re you teasing me,” Javert grunted roughly, apparently at his threshold of teasing so soon. Valjean grinned against his neck, which he was suckling at his leisure, content to taste the clean skin, lingering with the scent of Javert’s shower gel.
“Because you’re so cute when you’re angry,” Valjean murmured, crawling over him and taking his place between Javert’s readily spread legs. Javert disputed the fact mildly, more focused on getting Valjean to pleasure him than he was willing to protest the compliment. Valjean was only too happy to obey Javert’s impatient pleas, leaning down and finally kissing him properly. Javert tasted faintly of his toothpaste, but more overwhelmingly warm and musky and something uniquely him (Valjean had to guess that last part as he hadn’t much experience in kissing before becoming involved with his former-chasseur.) Javert kissed back with insistence, hands coming up to rub at Valjean’s strong shoulders and back, pulling him close and pressing his hips up. His need was more than evident. Valjean chuckled warmly against his mouth.
“Is there something I can help you with?” Valjean asked far too innocently for someone with kiss-bruised lips and an erection almost matching Javert’s.
“You can touch me,” Javert barely said anything at all with how quiet his request was. Valjean obeyed all the same, kissing him and cupping him through his pyjamas fleetingly–the promise of more heavily implied. Javert groaned softly, hips rising and thighs parting even more.
“You’re so sexy when you’re eager,” Valjean growled against his ear, squeezing his cock through the soft fabric. Javert sighed breathlessly, clinging to him, “What shall I do with you tonight?”
“Whatever it is,” Javert nuzzled his jaw, “Hurry up.”
And Valjean did.
-
Javert tried not to think too much further of the night before, wonderful as it had been, as it always was with Valjean. He still wasn’t sure if it was worth the embarrassment the hickeys were going to cause him, even with how thorough and wonderful a lover...
No. He was decidedly angry with Valjean. There would be no more tender thoughts in regard to him, only angry and disappointment in the older man for acting like a horny teenager. Oh what a fool he had been, Javert spat the toothpaste into the sink and began to scrub his face for his shave. Valjean had shown such an interest in his throat at the time, why did the thought never occur to Javert that the man had nefarious designs in mind? Oh well, past mistakes be what they are, Javert knew better for the future. It didn’t help his current predicament, obviously, but it would help him avoid such a trap in the future. And what a silly trap it was. How could he fall for something so obvious, so pleasant as the gentle, suckling kisses...
Javert frowned at himself. No more of those thoughts.
As he finished his shave, Valjean finally stumbled into the washroom to join him, looking very much rumpled from sleep, though any evidence of their night was mysteriously absent from any embarrassing places. Javert credited himself as being a considerate lover, though he knew it was mostly from his helplessness under Valjean. He washed his face a final time, intent to ignore Valjean, but soon felt the man’s strong arms encircle his waist and his lips sleepily graze the back of his neck. He was mocking him...!
“Bon matin, chou,” Valjean cooed softly, voice rough with sleep, “Sleep well?”
“You’d know,” Javert bit lamely, straightening in his hold, “Do you see what you’ve done?”
“Hm?” He mouthed at the back of Javert’s neck lazily, watching him through the mirror. Javert motioned to the spots adorning his neck with some freneticism, deep red and nearly swollen. Valjean grinned against his neck, the smug bastard, “Ah yes. Those.”
“‘Those’ he says!” Javert threw his hands up, “I have to be out on the street all day with strangers and tourists and criminals and you decide to decorate me with... these!”
“It was funny at the time,” he felt Valjean squeeze his middle, “It’s actually funny now too. And a bit...” He hand began to drift to Javert’s groin. Had the man no shame?
“Oh no,” Javert snapped, glaring through the mirror, “Don’t start. I’m furious with you.”
“Oh come on.”
“No! This is unprofessional and childish! I look like that idiot lawyer after he and Cosette–”
Valjean’s arms disappeared, the man coming to stand almost beside him, all playfulness gone from his face.
“Do not say what I think you’re going to say,” he threatened. Javert retaliated with crossed arms and a stuck-up nose.
“Like papa, like daughter.”
The shouting lasted 15 minutes and by the end of it, nothing much was resolved. Javert, for lack of anything better to do, stormed lamely out of the washroom to let Valjean hurry through his morning routine so they could still have petite déjeuner with Cosette. And, remembering the trendy girl, Javert diverted sharply to her room, as of yet changed into his uniform. This was more urgent, he felt, and he could put on his uniform in his sleep.
He knocked. There was a shout from Cosette not to enter (Getting changed, Javert thought absently) before the door opened and there she was, clothes on for the day but, curiously for the stylish young woman, her hair and make-up were not yet done. Javert noted this mildly.
“Good m–oh my God.”
She saw the hickeys in less than a second. Fantastic.
Javert grunted and flushed slightly, glancing back to his and Valjean’s room, “I was wondering if you had anything that might cover these?”
Cosette stared for a moment with all the horror of a daughter becoming painfully aware of her father’s sex life, before nodding in a far-off way, “Let me go look...”
She left, taking care to shut the door almost the entire way, which immediately aroused Javert’s suspicions of his not-quite-daughter. He carefully nudged the door back open a few inches with his foot and was unfortunately unsurprised to find a crop of messy blonde hair peeking up from the far side of the bed.
Marius.
Javert cleared his throat.
“Marius, I see you,” he eventually had to say when the boy wouldn’t move, thinking somehow he’d still managed to be hidden with that untamed crop of hair giving him away. The boy rose slightly, staring with wide eyes at his girlfriend’s not-quite-father.
“G-good morning, monsieur–”
“Save it,” Javert held up a hand, “I’m in a mood already and you’re probably going to make it worse by talking.”
They held a silence for a moment more.
“Are those hick–”
“Cosette!”
She finally reappeared at his call, taking an amusing moment to stare between them, eyes wide; she’d been caught. Cosette stared at Javert pleadingly.
“Don’t tell papa–”
“I won’t,” Javert promised. He was too tired and too preoccupied with his own troubles to care about the sordid love life of an 18 year old girl, even if it was Cosette, “The make-up?”
She nodded and stepped forward into the hall, holding up a bottle of skin-toned cream. Javert regarded it plainly, inaction prompting Cosette to open the bottle and pour a bit to apply to Javert’s skin. It was more than a little awkward for all parties involved (including Marius, who chose now to sit on the bed, but he was always more than a little awkward.) The moment was soon aborted by a disappointed click of Cosette’s tongue.
“No, that won’t do...”
“What?”
She gave an awkwardly apologetic shrug and smile, “It’s too light. I can’t blend it in.”
“What??”
“My foundation’s too light for your skin,” she began capping the make-up again, “You’ll have white splotches all over your neck, which is way more embarrassing than just the...”
Apparently only Marius could name them.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, it’s like you’re embarrassed about them and trying to hide them but you can’t even do that, so...” she shrugged, “It’s pathetic.”
Javert raised his eyebrows.
“Sorry. But... I mean, might as well wear them with pride?”
“Right, pride,” Javert rubbed over his face with both hands, quickly growing weary of the day, “I’ll just try and arrest a burglar or car-jacker covered in these things like a teenager.”
“Maybe you could add some blush to the cover-up?” Marius suggested from the bed, “Like mixing paint.”
Cosette’s eyes rolled heavenward, asking for strength, before replying, “No, Marius, then the spots will be red again. The only thing for it is to match your skin tone, Javert.”
“I figured,” he shook his head and left for his room again to get dressed into his uniform, leaving Cosette with little preamble. The door shut softly behind him, no doubt to conceal Marius’ presence if Valjean happened to wander by to wish his daughter good morning. Hopefully, that was all it would be. The two were foolish enough to try something in the few minutes they had before the family would leave for petite déjeuner and then... Javert smiled for the first time that day. Perhaps there was something to look forward to, even if it involved Valjean yelling at the interloping, idiot lawyer.
Back in his room, Javert’s thoughts once again drifted to the previous night while he dressed for the day. It was purely, once more, to assess if his and Valjean’s activities had been worth this aggravation and anxiety, which he was entirely sure they hadn’t been. But still, a thorough recollection wouldn’t hurt, especially if it were to confirm his suspicions. Javert nodded briefly, buttoning his shirt.
-
Valjean’s fingers slick inside him, his own thighs set wide apart, shaming him, making him ache with need. Javert’s fingers twisted in the sheets, patiently (or not) waiting out Valjean’s preparation. But for God’s sake, the man was working a fourth finger into him, entire palm slick, Javert’s own thighs sticky, and he really didn’t know if he could be so patient anymore. His chest heaved with the effort not to moan out or beg; he had dignity, as much as Valjean would have him think otherwise. He would not beg. He would not–
“Valjean,” Javert heard himself gasp before he could stop, “Please, please-!”
“Please, what?” the damnable man’s lips skirted up the inside of Javert’s thigh, tongue barely flicking out to taste his skin. Javert’s thighs trembled, trying not to kick out or buck. Inside, Valjean’s fingers were pumping a steady rhythm, already fucking the man into ecstasy. But it wasn’t enough. Valjean knew it. He was just playing with the younger man, seeing how long he would last before begging like a slut. The shame of the thought burned inside Javert’s chest and made him ache with need.
“Just do it, please,” Javert let his head fall back, hands shaking with the effort to keep clenched on the sheets. He simply did not have the time or patience to be played with tonight.
“Do what?”
“You know what!”
Those thrice-damned fingers circled Javert’s prostate, drawing a surprised, choked sound from the man. On his belly, his cock dripped with precome. He never knew himself to be quite so messy in the throes of passion before Valjean but it seemed anything the man willed would be. And if he willed Javert to debase himself, beg, and spread for him? Well, that would occur all too readily. Javert gasped for air as Valjean continued to stretch him.
But God, it wasn’t enough! All he could think of through the blinding pleasure was how much he craved Valjean’s cock to push into him, own him, fuck him into the mattress and claim him. Javert snapped out of his hazy reverie to hear Valjean’s low chuckle; apparently he’d been speaking these desires aloud. He was about to protest, salvage his dignity, when instead he whined, feeling Valjean’s fingers slip away, only to be replaced by the firm pressure of his cock. Javert parted his thighs even more, tilting his hips up invitingly, eyes locking with Valjean with need and silent pleas.
Valjean was only too happy to obey.
-
Valjean was in the kitchen, wearing in a light blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and dark jeans, and was checking his phone for messages when Javert wandered in. For the officer, he wore the same smartly pressed uniform as he always did, though his head wasn’t held quite as high as it usually was. He took his place by his partner’s side, ignoring the appreciative look from the other man, seeing his handiwork proudly (or not) displayed.
“You alright?”
Javert grunted, “I’ll get through it.”
Valjean licked his lips then, looking away and taking hold of Javert’s hand, lacing their fingers. He squeezed, “I am sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
He smiled, kissing Javert’s knuckles.
“Cosette! Hurry up and get dressed.”
“I’m coming!”
Javert felt a prickle of excited mischief, knowing that Marius couldn’t possibly escape without Valjean’s knowing. While he never liked the idea of dear Cosette getting into trouble, seeing the dolt lawyer get chewed out was always a treat–one he badly needed at the moment. But alas, only Cosette emerged from the hall, looking gorgeous as always in a grey box-cut top with a pink bandeau exposed where the cloth was cut too wide, shorts, and her hair tied neatly into a fishbone braid. She looked the picture of Parisian spring fashion and, while both gentlemen agreed she was adorably stylish, the fact remained that Valjean was unnerved by the popular fashion that exposed, what he felt, was too much of his daughter’s figure. His mouth twitched, as it did every morning when he saw her dress for the day.
“Are you sure you want to wear that?” Valjean inquired uncomfortably, hand clenching on Javert’s. The other man smirked to himself as Cosette rolled her eyes.
“Yes, let’s go.”
“Fine,” he relented, “Where shall we eat this morning?”
“Le Café Musain,” Cosette answered sharply before either man could make a suggestion. Javert caught her conspiratorial look, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“That run-down place in the square?” he asked warily. Cosette nodded.
“Yes, some of my friends will be there and I’d like to see them before class.”
“Friends being...?” her father prompted. Cosette shifted her weight from foot to foot, throat tight when she finally answered, “... Marius.”
Javert rolled his eyes. Valjean didn’t seem to notice the hesitation. He welcomed the decision and the thought of breakfasting with Cosette’s boyfriend of three weeks. He’d met the lad a few times prior and deemed him good-natured, but Javert insisted he must scrutinize if he wanted to ensure the best match for his daughter. Breakfast together would be a good opportunity to talk with the young man more and assess if he really was an acceptable beau.
Although his enthusiasm to get to the café and speak with Marius was somewhat deflated by Cosette’s flitting about as he tried to lock the door for their apartment. She’d somehow gotten the notion that locks were a thing of the past and no one would want to steal anything of theirs anyway; plus, who would target a fourth floor apartment in the middle of the complex? Ridiculous.
Valjean shooed her silliness away while Javert laughed beside him, curiously amused by the young girl’s trust in society. Very curiously indeed. One would think, having known the officer for more than five minutes, that he would educate Cosette on the nature of the depraved criminal mind; though instead he laughed and Cosette threw him scathing look after look.
The three set down the stairs and out to the rue, welcomed by the spring sunshine and the bustle of Parisian life. Cosette lagged behind, wringing her mobile in her hands, eyes darting to their apartment and the surrounding street, as if expecting something. Or someone. Javert grinned.
“That trouble with locked doors again?” he muttered so only she could hear. Cosette shoved at him, stress shaking her petite frame apart.
“It just takes him a while sometimes,” she defended lamely, checking her phone once more. Javert struggled not to burst into laughter.
“What was that?” Valjean looked over his shoulder, reaching back to tug at Javert’s wrist until their fingers interlaced. Cosette grinned; Javert scowled. Finally, all was right in the universe.
“Nothing, chou.”
-
Everything was hot. Javert was gasping, wrists pinned above his head by his partner’s strong grip, Valjean’s lips upon his neck, and their hips pressed tightly together. Valjean was rutting into him with shallow thrusts, everything slick and amazingly hot, leaving Javert to twitch his hips up for more, to have to readjust his thighs near constantly around Valjean’s waist to draw him deeper inside.
“Valjean,” God, his voice was rough. He felt like he’d just run a marathon and they’d only just begun-! Javert’s mind swam with the implications–how was he this desperate for the intimacy, even in the six months they’d been together? How was he so close to the edge now, when they’d only just started? How could Valjean play him like skilled musician to his craft, make him arch and sing and gasp beneath him with the slightest touch?
It must have had something to do with that insistent suckling on his neck. Javert squirmed, pushing his cock up between them, rutting as best he could against Valjean’s firm stomach. It was a minor relief in a sea of tantalizing sensation. Valjean seemed to know this and, thankfully, fell into a rhythm of deep thrusts that rocked Javert on the bed, though he was kept safely in place by Valjean’s grip on his wrists and hand on his hip. Then, damn him, Valjean went back to working on his throat, searching a place that might send Javert into a babbling frenzy.
He found it quickly.
Javert arched with another ragged gasp, hips squirming beneath Valjean, prompting the man to thrust more quickly, more deeply, while his teeth dug into the sensitive flesh of Javert’s throat. An electric thrill from the vulnerability drove Javert to mumble helpless praises and pleas, cock straining for stimulation Valjean continued to deny him. God, it was so good. Javert felt conscious thought slowly slip away, drowning in pleasure and the heat of Valjean’s touches. But it wasn’t enough-!
“Jean-!” he gasped roughly, bucking before he could stop himself. Valjean groaned, hand that pinned Javert’s wrists slowly sliding down his skin, tracing rough lines down his arms and chest, both hands surrounding his waist, hauling him up and into his lap, shoving that much deeper inside. Javert called out sharply, head back, hips writhing helplessly, so close yet not quite there-
“Matthieu,” Valjean bit into his neck roughly, suckling, strong hands gripping the younger man’s hips and setting him to ride in a steady pace. Javert whimpered, hands fisting in his partner’s hair, finally feeling the inevitable build toward climax.
“I’m going to...” he warned, voice soft and rough. Valjean merely groaned, thrusting up hard, bed squeaking with their motions. Almost, almost...
Valjean bit his throat sharply. Javert came with a strangled shout.
-
“Javert?”
They had arrived at the café. They were sitting at a table, as of yet unattended by a waiter. Javert snapped to attention, back straightening into a practiced posture, eyes darting about as if he was unsure of where he was or how he came to be there. Cosette, across from him, was texting. Valjean’s hand was still clasped in his own.
“Where were you?” the man grinned, knowing exactly where Javert’s thoughts had strayed. The flush in his cheeks were an obvious indication, coupled with his faraway look. Javert scowled, turning away to search out their absent waiter. Just as he was about to gripe about the terrible service of Cosette’s home-away-from-home, their server arrived; a man only a few years older than Cosette with untidy hair and a kind face. Cosette smiled when he approached the table, setting her phone aside.
“Bon matin, Combeferre. I didn’t know you worked here.”
“Bon matin, mademoiselle,” the young man bowed dramatically, “And yeah, Bahorel and I do the morning shifts,” He gestured to the man in question, flirting with a table of school girls instead of taking their orders, “And may I ask of the...” the boy drifted off, eyes glancing down to Javert’s throat. The officer met him with a fierce scowl, “The, ah. The gentlemen with you?”
“My father and his boyfriend.”
“Partner,” Javert snapped reflexively, ire already risen to a dangerous level. Valjean squeezed his hand to calm him.
“Bon matin, messieurs!” Combeferre gave another short bow for each of them, having recovered from his awkward shock, “As the lady said, my name is Combeferre, and I will be serving you. What can I get you?”
“Coffee, black. Chocolate croissant,” Javert rubbed his face. Valjean ordered the same, substituting his partner’s sweet-toothed choice for a buttered croissant. Cosette chose hot chocolate and a slice of baguette with jam but stopped Combeferre before he could rush off.
“Marius is coming too. Can you get him coffee with cream and sugar and a chocolate brioche?”
“Anything for the petite mademoiselle,” Combeferre rolled his eyes at Marius’ ridiculous breakfast order. Not that he was surprised. Nor was Javert, for that matter.
“Behave, you,” Cosette swatted his arm lightly as he rushed off to the kitchen to place the orders.
Javert watched the young man go, then turned his gaze to the one called Bahorel, who’d actually taken a seat at the table of girls rather than continue working. He frowned slightly, wishing he could arrest someone for being a lazy flirt but the law was not on his side. He turned back to Valjean, who was rubbing his thumb over Javert’s knuckles lovingly and watching Javert with his undivided attention. Javert felt his stomach knot at the infatuated expression and, for a second, it was like their first date all over again. Valjean’s confidence and forwardness, Javert’s awkward reluctance to even try dating the ex-convict. But the feeling quickly faded when Cosette squealed sharply, alerting both men to, of course, Marius’ arrival. The boy looked like a wreck, red-faced and wheezing, nearly collapsing into Cosette’s arms when she rushed to greet him.
“B-bon matin, monsieur Valjean,” Marius stuttered a bit, clearly out of breath from his fight with the locked door and the run to the café, “Bon matin, m... monsieur Javert.”
The older men returned the greeting in unison. Javert felt slightly ridiculous.
“Please, sit,” Valjean nodded to the chair beside Cosette’s place. Marius obeyed stiffly, pink-faced and tense in his girlfriend’s father’s gaze. Valjean tried very hard not to laugh at the poor boy; Javert found him wearing the same half-hidden smirk that he wore whilst he was the mayor of Montreuil and Javert, chief officer of the gendarmerie at the time, reported himself to have made a false accusation against him. Javert quietly brooded in the memory while Valjean lightly interrogated his daughter’s beau.
In the lull of attention on him, Javert felt his thoughts slowly drifting away once more to the night prior. But these thoughts were shortly aborted by yet another party joining their table; a young man about Marius’ age, with unruly black hair, a patchy couple of sideburns, and bright eyes. Javert faintly recognized the man for his wild grin and wilder hair. He was a popular visitor in the cells, making snide comments as he sobered up after a night of drunken disturbances. The boy grinned presently to the younger members at the table, stooping to kiss Cosette’s and Marius’ cheeks sloppily and overtly; not at all the polite air kiss as was common among friends and neighbors. Marius scrubbed at his cheek with distinct embarrassment.
“Bon matin, Grantaire.”
“Bon matin!” the young interloper hugged his friends tightly, “And to the gentlemen with you, bon–”
Grantaire, as he seemed to be called, stopped shortly, staring at the officer. Javert set his mouth into a defiant scowl, daring the young man to be so stupid as to–
“Big night, was it?”
“That’s enough!” Javert roared. All chatter at the café stopped, leaving the whole square quiet and fearful. Valjean stared at Javert, more angry than scared, as the rest of the café was, and leaned in to hiss, “What the hell is wrong with–”
“No! Shut up!” Javert snapped, pointing, “It’s all your goddamn fault! I’ve tried to pretend these things don’t bother me, that I can work like this, but because of your perverse desires to ruin my life, I can’t even have breakfast without some smart asshole making comments! What the hell is wrong with you that you have to torture me every chance you get?!”
“I’m not trying to torture you!” Valjean bit back through gritted teeth, trying to keep his voice level, “I just–”
“Shut up! I don’t care what you just! The fact is that you acted like a goddamn teenager and now I look like one!” Javert stood from the table, face red with humiliation and anger, “I’m going home!”
“Javert–”
“I’m going home!!” he shouted again, storming away. Behind him, le Musain hesitantly resumed its morning activity. Combeferre was left standing at the table, nervously clutching the tray full of breakfast and trying not to shake apart. The poor man’s eyes were huge and terrified, so innocent to true rage was he. Grantaire stepped helpfully to his side, taking on the task of serving the table and correctly guessing the orders. Valjean stared at the abandoned coffee and chocolate croissant with a ridiculous amount of grief, glancing to the direction his partner stormed off.
“Wrap that last one up,” he asked of the shell-shocked waiter, “I’ll be taking it home.”
“Yes, monsieur...”
-
Cosette and Marius had decided to go to the park before their classes for the day and bid Valjean a farewell after breakfast. Cosette would text him as plans developed. Valjean kissed her cheek and shook Marius’ hand, wishing them a pleasant day together. He was a good lad. Awkward, but well-meaning. He approved.
Now to deal with Javert at home.
When he returned to the apartment, the lights were off, as they’d left, but there were subtle signs Javert had been home, as he had indicated in his tantrum. The coat and hat hung up by the door were one such clue. Valjean ventured inside, taking Javert’s uneaten breakfast to their bedroom as an awkward peace offering, but God only knew if that would be enough to resolve this tension. The lights inside the bedroom were similarly left off, though the darkness could not hide the bundle under the covers. It prompted a fond smile for Valjean; no matter what the younger man protested, he was naturally adorable, especially when reverting to childish behaviors when things went awry. Valjean carefully set the coffee and croissant on the dresser, toed off his shoes, and sat on the bed.
“Go away,” the bundle mumbled. Valjean unbuttoned his shirt.
“Did you call in?”
“... Yes.”
“So you’ve got the day off.”
“Until tomorrow afternoon,” the bundle shifted, “When I can find some properly toned cover-up.”
Valjean crawled under the covers, curling around the smaller form. Javert curled away slightly, but couldn’t stray too far. He loved Valjean’s embrace, even when furious with him. Javert swallowed quietly and allowed himself to be spooned. The two shared a long silence, listening to the other’s breathing in the quiet of the room.
“I love you,” Valjean offered softly, arm pulling him closer to his chest.
“I love you too.”
“Do you really think that I torture you?”
Javert tensed a little, fingers curling against the mattress. It was a long moment before he answered, “In Montreuil. But not here.”
“I tortured you in Montreuil?”
Javert shrugged mildly, “You didn’t mean to half the time.”
“I never thought I was particularly harsh on you,” Valjean mused against his neck, petting his chest absently. Javert relaxed into the cuddle, finally, hearing the soft, soothing voice and feeling Valjean’s warm breath, “You were my favorite officer, after all.”
“That was it,” Javert sighed, “The favoritism; I couldn’t stand it. And you very well know it wasn’t just favoritism in the later months.”
Valjean grinned. Javert was right; he’d been outright flirting with the chief of the gendarmerie when he’d come across Fantine’s dire situation and had to leave to take care of the young Cosette in Montfermeil. But the months before had been so... enthralling. Watching the young officer flush and squirm under the weight of innuendo and flirtation.
“Well?”
“I admit to nothing,” Valjean squeezed the younger man in his arms, “Except to showing my appreciation for a very fine officer of the law.”
“You damn fool,” Javert laughed quietly, “Do you know how many times I went back to my apartment with a very confused erection?”
Valjean laughed hysterically at the image and Javert joined him. The two giggled like young lovers for a long time, forgetting all about their row that morning, all their tension melting away. Javert hugged onto Valjean’s strong arm about him as the laughter faded, content to lie there in the silence with him. The older man spoke up then, “You know, I kind of miss those days.”
“Being a mayor, you mean.”
“God no,” he shook his head, “That was way more stress than I ever needed. No, I meant the sneaking around with you.”
“From me.”
“With you. You were always by my side, after all. And at first, obviously, I hated it. But then I saw how good you were at your job; how fair you are. How cute you are when things don’t go your way.”
“You’re getting sentimental.”
“Maybe. But, I especially loved teasing you,” Javert, once again, felt a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, permitting the caress for now, “You’re particularly adorable when flustered by M. le maire.”
“It was respect for authority.”
“It was a crush. Don’t deny it.”
“Fine,” Javert huffed, “I had a crush on Madeleine. What does it matter?”
No answer but Valjean did continue kissing and sucking lightly on his neck. No, Javert decided suddenly, not again. Though he did desperately want to keep the game going, keep Valjean close... He turned in his arms, pushing a hand to Valjean’s chest to stop the kisses.
“Javert—”
“M. le maire, what are you doing?” Javert asked plainly; he was never very good at acting. But from the grin Valjean was beaming back at him, the stagnant line was good enough for him.
“Why, just showing my appreciation for my favorite officer.”
Javert blushed, looking down, “That is a mockery of praise.”
“Are you questioning your superior, Javert?” Valjean sat up, moving between Javert’s legs and bearing down over him, pinning him with a hard look. It was the very same that Madeleine would use when Javert was being particularly stubborn about law proceedings, even when he was right and the mayor, dare Javert think it, was wrong. He choked on his tongue shortly.
“Where is Cosette?”
“At class. Don’t change the subject.”
Javert felt his body heat with the direct and sharp order. God, if only they had done this those years ago... no, he couldn’t bear to think of that. It would be far too tantalizing in those days. Sleeping with your superior in—as it was supplied by Javert’s imagination—his own office! He nibbled his lip distractedly.
“Well?” Valjean was leaning closer, “Were you or were you not questioning your superior, Javert?”
Their eyes finally met when Javert dared to match his gaze. In a bold voice, he clarified for the former-mayor, “Yes, monsieur.”
“Then I suppose I will have to reprimand you,” Valjean grinned down at the younger man, watching him tense up with anticipation for the game to come.
Today was turning out better than he had hoped.
-
It was quite late by the time Cosette and Marius stumbled home. After their classes, they’d spent the day in the city together, enjoying the spring sunshine and each other. Cosette had lost track of time. Forgot to text her father about having dinner with Les Amis. Drank far too much wine under Grantaire’s challenging wiles. The two now were stumbling drunk through the apartment, led by Cosette into the kitchen where they could retrieve snacks and a glass of water. Or they would be heading there if Marius could keep his hands off the girl. He kissed anywhere his mouth could reach, making appreciative little sounds that sent Cosette into a giggling fit, squirming away unsteadily.
“Mon cher!” she gasped, batting at him, “Let me go!”
“Never,” he growled playfully, tugging her back into his arms and kissing her clumsily. Cosette sighed happily against her boyfriend’s lips, arms coming up around his neck and pushing against him until he leaned back against the kitchen counter.
“Right where I want you,” she purred softly, kissing him to tease. Marius smiled uneasily, stomach knotting at the pleasant warmth Cosette’s kisses were spreading through him, “Stay tonight.”
“Yes,” Marius nodded dumbly, kissing and kissing, “I will stay.”
“Will you now?” The two lovers were sharply interrupted by the irate voice of Cosette’s father. They looked to him, wide-eyed and caught in the headlights, as Valjean began an enraged rant of Cosette’s irresponsibility and recklessness. The teenagers clung together, staring with horrified fascination, though it was not Valjean’s anger that had caught their attention. He quickly realized this by their faraway looks, his rant petering out impotently.
“Papa,” Cosette whispered with awe, “You...”
Marius was quick to finish her sentence, eyes alight with excitement.
“You have a hickey!”
Fin.